


Against All Odds.

by Ya_Boi_Iggy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ya_Boi_Iggy/pseuds/Ya_Boi_Iggy
Summary: Negan finds you ill and hungry in an old storage bunker. From that moment on, your relationship blossoms.





	Against All Odds.

The screeching of a handbrake and the crunch of tire on gravel is what woke you. Disoriented by your fog of sleep, (and the lack of food that made your head pound), you didn't realise people were infiltrating your bunker until the sound of the old rusted door squeaked open.  
  
Weak from exhaustion and starvation, you could barely pick your body from the ground. Dirt stuck to your skin in a thin crust, mingling with dried, brown blood. It was hard to tell which was which on your skin at this point.  
  
"Raid the place for all it fuckin' has. You find even a single round of ammo here, y' take it."  
  
A voice barked. A chorus of "yes sir," followed sweet, and before you knew it, people were flooding in, and picking the place dry. Normally, when walkers managed to trapse their way in, you had an escape route. The fuckers were literally braindead after all, getting the slip on one of them was easy enough.  
  
But these were humans. Humans sure to see you, since they'd bled to every corner of your bunker.  
  
With nowhere to go, you surrendered yourself to your fate. Why fight against the tide when the end was inevitable? Perhaps giving in so fast and easy was a cowardly thing to do, but whoever had entered were here looking for ammo. Firearms. Things used for offense. No good could come of a group looking for weaponry.  
  
"Sir, there's a girl back here!"  
  
"She bit?"  
  
You could barely whine in protest when hands picked up your limp form from against the wall and scowered your skin for any sign of a zombie infection.  
  
"No, sir! She's clean; and really fucking malnourished."  
  
Your blurry eyes strained against the throbbing hunger migraine trying to make them close. You could only just make out the tall figure sauntering over until he wasn't even a foot away. It was then your eyes could finally focus. Who you could only assume was the boss of the whole operation stared down at you with a considerable amount of amusement on his face.  
  
"Well I'll be fucked. She's half fuckin' dead! Can't believe you could actually tell her apart from those undead assholes."  
  
He laughed.  
  
It was then a distant voice called, "there's  a horde coming! I'm seeing over twenny' walkers here!"  
  
"Shit," the boss man hissed, "alright. Get the kid in the van. Grab what you can find and let's shove off."  
  
"Yes sir."


End file.
